


After you and me, there is us

by CastielsCarma



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Child Loss, Divorced Castiel/Dean Winchester, Getting Back Together, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:29:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22032598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastielsCarma/pseuds/CastielsCarma
Summary: Dean is forced to deal with his feelings and emotions about everything after meeting his ex-husband while having lunch.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 55
Kudos: 217





	1. Stuck

**Author's Note:**

> A three-chapter piece about broken relationships and mending relationships. It will mention the loss of children and dealing with grief, if that is a trigger for you, be warned.
> 
> Thank you for reading.  
> I love to hear what you think, don't be shy with comments but don't feel obligated. =)

Dean knows the day will turn from good to crap when his ex-husband walks in.

The coffeehouse is not one that Dean's friends would typically associate him with. It is heavy on soy, vegan cheese, and tofu. A low ambient sound that probably supports one's divine soul while massaging the third eye or some crap like that vibrates in the background.

He only frequents the place because they make a killer pie – really, all their pies are to die for – and the coffee is straight up a divine offering from the gods to humanity. That and the fact that it is a five-minute walk from his work and the coffee at Rinc tastes more like tepid tea-water than the black liquid that is his lifeline makes it an easy choice.

He can't even remember how long it has been, but Cas looks the same. Dean will always be able to point Cas out in the middle of a crowd. He has that kind of presence that, not necessarily lightens up a room, Cas has never been the extroverted type, but that demands attention nonetheless.

Maybe it is that he stands ramrod straight, or maybe it is the unusual combination of his dark hair with his starkly blue eyes, or maybe it is the low timbre of his voice that pulls people in as he speaks.

Once upon a time, Dean's stomach had swooped every time he laid eyes on Cas. Now his stomach does somersaults for entirely different reasons.

Slight nervousness turns into panic which then morphs into anger. Why the fuck did Cas have to walk into this cafe? It is _Dean's_. He comes here every day during his lunch breaks except when work demands he eat with his colleagues or when they have clients to feed and water. He is on a first-name basis with the barista, Adam. Adam knows how Dean wants his coffee; hell, he can even tell from the way Dean saunters into the coffeehouse if it has been a good or bad day. Good days, coffee blacker than death, bad days, coffee blacker than death with a dab of whiskey in it.

Dean does not want to see or talk to Cas. They are done.

Dean grabs his mug and takes a sip of coffee, ignores all the complicated emotions that roll through him. Panic, anger, hurt are there sure, but why the hell does he detect a small flutter of hope? He crushes it easily. Who needs scary movies when you can get all that excitement for free just meeting your ex-husband?

As always when he thinks of Cas, those _other_ memories peek their ugly heads up. Fuck no, he is not doing this here. He slams the lid shut on those recollections and walls them in. He can already feel a headache coming on and his jaws hurt from all the clenching.

Dean grabs a newspaper and opens it up as a shield in front of him. He is not even aware of its content. The letters just hover before his eyes as he tries to make sense of them.

He can just leave. Cas is done with his order and will sit down at any moment. Dean can sneak past him, call in sick from work and drown the memory of this day in whiskey. Not a dab this time, but a whole bottle.

“Here you are, sir, a pecan pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.”

Fuck.

Dean tries to pretend that he hasn't heard the waitress. He can't believe that he has forgotten about his goddamn pie. Cas's appearance must have rattled him more than he thinks if the notion of pie has escaped his mind.

Dean slowly lowers the newspaper and nods. “Uh, thanks.” Reluctantly, he folds the newspaper and puts it away.

“Anything else I can do for you, sir?”

Dean is on the verge of asking her if she can snap her fingers and teleport him away but he's already made a fool of himself with the newspaper. He tries to speak but finds his mouth to be dry. Clearing his throat, he shakes his head. “I'm good.”

He barely glances at the pie. Instead, his eyes search for Cas and when he can't find him a rush of relief floods through him. Maybe Cas had ordered something to-go. He wills his hammering heart to slow the fuck down.

The coast is clear. Pie and newspaper. Just like usual. This is just a normal Friday lunch, at the end of a normal work week and everything is just normal. He is _fine_.

Cas is gone.

Just as Dean is about to taste his first bite of heavenly pie, a dark, rich and all too familiar voice greets him.

“Hello, Dean.”

It has been too long and not long enough.

Dean's eyes flit from his pie to Cas shirt. It looks new, white and crisp and the suit over it is different, it's not the old beige one. This suit is black and sharp. Tailored. Dean looks at Cas' tie again – it has some weird flowery pattern, green, orange and blue. On any other person, it would have looked ridiculous but Cas manages to pull it off. Not only does he pull it off but he looks good in it.

Finally, Dean meets Cas' eyes properly.

He isn't ready for the emotion he sees there, a gentle softness whereas in Dean's dreams and memories there has only been that hard look, the same one that had been all-encompassing throughout the last weeks, hell, months of what was once them.

Cas looks different, yet the same.

Dean manages to rein in all of his turbulent emotions, unclenches his jaws and opens his mouth to say something. “Hi.” He wants to say more, but at the same time, he wants to punch Cas in the face. The thought makes guilt settle in his stomach, a heavy ugly feeling. A burst of sadness meanders its way up from the deep recesses of Dean's mind and again Dean shuts it down. Not _here._

He grabs his coffee mug and uses the motion of sipping the still warm liquid as an excuse to stay silent.

Cas chews on his lip, before glancing away. When his gaze returns, he seems determined and apologetic at the same time. “There are no more free seats available. I didn't realize that it was you.” He doesn't offer any more explanation and Dean doesn't need it.

Cas isn't impolite but Dean can tell by the cadence of his voice that he is restrained, or rather surprised meeting his ex.

Welcome to the club, Cas.

Cas angles his body towards the door. “It's fine. I can eat this at work.”

Dean's hold on his mug tightens. He peeks behind Cas, lets his gaze sweep over the room. The coffeehouse bustles with people, young hip kids that eat sprouts and grains for breakfast interspersed with the more corporate-type people. Men and women that are dressed in sleek suits and ties so black that Dean avoids being in their very proximity least he gets sucked in and vanishes forever. Between the tables, waiters fly with orders or carry trays filled with orange juice and the latest ginger-seaweed-dirt-cleanse.

The coffeehouse is packed and Dean wants to tell Cas to go to hell, it's easier that way, but when has he ever taken the easy way out? He ignores the reminder that his mind wants to provide. “There's a seat available,” he grumbles.

Cas' raised eyebrow is a clue and he shuffles his feet before he takes a step towards Dean. He pulls out the chair and sits down in the seat. “Thank you,” he says.

Dean just mumbles before he chews on his lips. His heart, always his heart is doing eighty miles an hour and as he looks at Cas he has a hard time grasping that it really is his ex-husband sitting there.

“Haven't seen you in a while.” Dean curses internally. Of course he hasn't seen Cas, that had been the whole point, and only Dean could call three years awhile.

Cas raises his eyebrow again, looking at Dean questioningly before he averts his gaze. He plays with his utensils before letting his hands rest on his knees. “I could say the same about you.”

Dean lets air escape from his mouth, sips his coffee again. The familiar taste soothes his nerves. “I have a reason for being here. What's your reason?” It sounds harsh, unwelcoming.

If Cas takes offense by Dean's tone, he doesn't show it. The thought makes heat rise up from within. It coats Dean's skin with an unwelcoming warmth and suddenly he wants to be gone, drop his coffee and pie, drop Cas and vanish.

“I work nearby.” He grabs his sandwich and takes a bite.

“Uh-huh. Same.”

So Cas had changed jobs recently and managed to get one close to Dean's _new_ job. Not that Cas had known about that. Fate was probably laughing her ass off right now.

Dean notices that Cas' sandwich is loaded with avocado. He used to tease Cas about his excessive use of avocado in everything. _Everything._ He never forgave Cas for promising him chocolate mousse after he'd agreed to go jogging with him – everyone knows that Dean Winchester doesn't jog – and then realizing after two spoons that the whipped cream was in fact mashed up avocado.

Dean looks at Cas finally, really looks at him. His hair is slightly longer and peppered with gray here and there but it's basically the same disheveled hairdo he's had for as long as Dean has known him. His nose is the same, but the lines in his face are deeper. Dean can't help wondering if he is the reason for some of those. Of course he is.

His eyes go lower, stops at Cas' lips.

Dean bites the inside of his cheek, shakes his head slightly in anger. He isn't even sure if he's angry at Cas or himself right now. A tiny voice whispers that it's not anger he is harboring but he shuts it up.

“I see.” Dean's eyes flit down to Cas' hands. They are the same and yet so different. He narrows his eyes as he sees something black peek from beneath Cas' shirt cuffs.

It's subtle, but it's there. Dean would know.

He _knows_ Cas' body, every hard and soft line of it. He knows how Cas' lines around his eyes spread out when he laughs genuinely, that kind of deep laughter that erupts from his belly. He knows how that mole Cas has near his hip is shaped like a star and how his left knee always, always makes a popping sound when he bends down. He knows how steady Cas is with his hands as he molds and carves wood and planks into beds, tables, and fucking knives. Wooden knives. Only Cas would carve wooden knives. A wooden knife was like owning an automatic Impala. Just the thought makes Dean shiver.

He remembers then how Cas' eyes narrowed in anger, blue fire blazing from within, how his hands clenched as adrenaline coursed through him, how his body turned away from Dean's. He remembers words that cut deeper than wooden knives. Deeper than knives of steel.

There is something about Cas. How he manages to pull things out from Dean without effort, with a comfortable ease. A small smile plays on Dean's lips.

Cas can keep his ties that look like they should adorn the neck of some psychedelic mushroom eating hippie sunbathing in a desert. Cas doesn't need one of those ties darker than black holes. His very presence manages to pull people to him.

If only Dean had known what Cas would pull from him. Shame comes quickly after, dispersing his thoughts.

And just like before, like nothing had changed Cas manages to pull things from Dean then and there.

Dean looks at Cas' wrists and the words blurt out, despite Dean's desire to keep them locked in and caged up. “You got a tattoo?” He sounds surprised, almost incredulous and tries to mask it by drinking more coffee.

It's lukewarm now but Dean gulps it down and chokes on it. He almost laughs at the irony. He knows he isn't any wiser now but maybe he is calmer. He likes to think he is. Or maybe he is just better at pretending.

Something passes over Cas' face.

Dean's always rolled his eyes when he's read in books about noticing the world in someone's gaze or seeing someone's entire life story etched into their faces. Lines that speak of experiences lived in the body but also carried _on_ the body.

He knows he's wrong now and those books were right.

Dean doesn't have more time to process the truths that flash over Cas' face.

“Yes. I have a tattoo. I don't know why that would be so... noteworthy.”

It's a surprise that Dean sits here, having a conversation with Cas, if a few awkward sentences constitutes a conversation. He still feels the urge to punch him, but there is something else on the tip of his tongue. A song of regret, and further down a void of pain that roars to life with its slithering echo seeking out his heart, always his heart, to turn it black again. He wants to open his mouth and purge it all out.

Cas pulls his arm away, revealing more of the tattoo.

Dark feathers are intricately etched into Cas' skin.

And Dean knows that they are wings, huge black wings. Just as he knows as surely as his heart pounds its thunderous beat in his ears that those black wings cover Cas' back, that the feathers extend all the way down to his other arm.

Angel wings.

Dean thinks with a cold numbness – lies, there is no cold as just about _everything_ in his body is aflame – that he'll open his mouth right then and there and vomit.

His next words are a mere whisper. “You... they're angel wings, aren't they?”

Dean expects Cas to storm away, abandon his beloved avocado sandwich – abandon him – but Cas doesn't move.

His face moves, the guarded expression turns into sadness but a flash of pride shines through in his eyes, so quick that for a second Dean thinks that he's imagined it. What is left is resoluteness, and bathing in the sunlight from the huge windows Cas has never looked more beautiful.

Cas nods, almost imperceptibly. “Yes.” His sandwich is forgotten but he brings his arms up, clasps his hands. He doesn't make an attempt to hide them. Cas never was one for hiding.

Dean sees the feathers on both wrists now, and he equally hates them and equally nurses a desire to see more of them.

“More coffee?”

The voice of another person entering the weird space that Cas and Dean inhabit, pulls Dean out of his musings. He looks up at the waitress, a girl with spindly limbs and brown hair in a ponytail.

He quells an impulse to order beer, whiskey, hell, even a Kahlua would work, just so he can taste the alcohol on his tongue. “No, thank you.”

She leaves them in a hurry, as if she can taste the unspoken words draped heavy over both of them.

There is an avalanche of words Dean wants to say, but it's more than likely that he'll bury himself instead. He's never been good with words.

Cas never gets his words wrong.

He contemplates devouring his pie. Dean glances at his watch, realizes that his time is up. It feels like he can breathe again. He can walk out and be free and forget this disaster ever happened. Forgetting the past, definitely forgetting the present and drowning out tomorrow all sounds like pleasant activities to do on a Friday.

Cas breaks the silence. Which is fair since he also shatters hearts.

Dean ignores the voice that calls him a liar.

“I know that when we last parted, it was less than amicable.”

He doesn't want to but the description is so _Cas_ , and a small smile tugs the corners of his lips upwards.

“Yeah, you can say that.” He swallows.

Cas sighs. “As you've said, it's been a while-”, Cas looks at Dean earnestly and then he starts talking faster as if he is afraid that even the slightest hesitancy will scatter his courage and words, like dandelion seeds caught in the wind. “-and now that the opportunity has presented itself, maybe we can meet somewhere else, more private? Or at least under more prepared circumstances.”

Cas exhales. “I've never stopped thinking about you.”

And there is the open maw ready to devour his heart.

Cas' eyes never leave Dean and he feels that pull, that magnetic field dragging him closer to something he doesn't dare contemplate. His mind is already prepared and Dean nurses at least three well-crafted sentences of rejection.

But what comes out is the exact opposite.“Sure.”

Dean notes with a morbid fascination that it is possible for complete silence and the roaring thunder of his own pulse to coexist at the same time in his mind. “I have to go.”

Cas nods in understanding. “Here is my card.” He places it on the table, then slowly pushes it over when Dean doesn't make a motion to take it.

Dean curls his fingers over the edge of the card and palms it.

As he walks out of the coffee shop, Dean doesn't remember if he said any departing words to Cas, or if he left the tip on the table.

He has a vague recollection of not finishing his pie though.

Dean calls Charlie after work. Within the hour she's there. He knows the evening will turn from crap to good when his best friend walks in.


	2. In the middle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean finds solace in Charlie's company after meeting his ex-husband, Castiel for the first time in three years.
> 
> After his conversation with Charlie, Dean has to decide. Will he go and meet Cas as he promised or will the hurt of the past and the fear of the unknown future make him forgo an opportunity?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two is up!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this second installation. 
> 
> Still deals with grief and child loss, more explicitly now, so be mindful if that's triggering for you. Thank you for reading, leaving kudos, and comments. Nothing is more satisfying than getting to know how other people feel when reading your works. <3

“Well, I guess this is an upgrade from the beer,” Charlie greets as she finds Dean on the couch, spoon in his mouth.

Dean smiles and pulls out an empty beer bottle. He drops the spoon and envelopes Charlie in a huge hug, kissing her on the top of her head. Her scent is familiar and comforting and he holds her a moment longer than usual. 

Her arms tighten around him before he lets her go. 

“Only one beer though, so I'd call that a win.”

They sit down on the couch and Dean throws a spoon at her. Charlie's forehead catches it.

“I see all those government people you work with have turned your reflexes into molasses. And to think you once had Supersonic reflexes.” He grins.

“It's a special gift to have such a thick forehead as you, Dean. Not everyone has it.” 

“If only that would extend to a thick skin.”

Charlie crosses her legs, leans in and takes a spoonful of chocolate ice cream. “Oh, fudge _and_ caramel sauce. I see you're splurging today.” She moans as she tastes the cold treat. 

Dean feels her eyes on him but she doesn't push him. He's always liked that about her. “I also have _Phish food_.” 

“Dean, if I didn't know you better, I'd think you're asking a girl out.” She peeks behind a pillow. “If you're hiding an original of the first Action Comics, then it's definitely a date.”

“Only if I can make you a nice burger.”

“Done, deal.”

The ice cream is long finished and forgotten. Dean furrows his brow and smacks his tongue in irritation. “If you could move the thief, that would've been great. It would have been even better if I could move the thief.”

Charlie smacks Dean's arm. “Someone is a sore loser.”

Dean takes a swipe of his beer. “Me? Never. Not my fault that you're in cahoots with the gambling gods.” He looks at her, takes in her fiery red hair, her jeans and T-shirt. Today it's Pokemon, Mewtwo. So many would dismiss her as a quirky, geeky nerd but Charlie with her compassion, sharp wit, and even sharper tongue has been one of his constants since his late teens. “Thanks for coming over, Charlie.”

“That's what friends are for.”

“Yeah. So, about work. You still trying not to chew their heads off?”

Charlie pushes the board game away. “Yep. I must say I have amazing restraint, all those hours making chain mail for my LARP's sure have paid off.”

Dean chuckles. “You can't just... I don't know, order them to listen to you?”

“If only! You would think that the cybersecurity of important government facilities would be a top priority but no. What do I know, 'little red-headed girl'?”

Dean chuckles around his beer bottle. “Ouch. Do I dare ask what happened next?”

Charlie smiles and takes a handful of nuts. “Nothing. I would never make it so that every time he types in the word 'red' his computer shuts down. I'm a professional.”

“You're devious, Charlie.”

A comfortable silence settles over them. Dean suddenly feels tired. He contemplates just closing his eyes and letting his mind settle into sleep-induced oblivion right there.

“Was work stressful?” Charlie's question shakes him awake. 

He hums. “The only stressful thing about work is that I need to wear a tie.”

“From a purely neutral observation, you look hot in a tie.”

Dean chuckles. “Good to know.” He chews his lip. “Lunch was stressful.”

Charlie stays silent. She feels that Dean is on the verge of airing out the reason for his call.

“I saw Cas today.”

Charlie scoots closer. She takes his hand, squeezes it. “That's... I'm sorry, Dean.”

Dean nods. He lets go of Charlie, picks at an imaginary stain on his jeans. “I think we're going on a date.”

Charlie's eyes go wide. “Wait, what? That's... _congrats_?”

Dean sighs. “Maybe. I don't know. It's all – Frankly, I don't know what I am supposed to be feeling.”

“I can understand that.” Charlie pauses for a breath before continuing. “But if you forget how you're supposed to be feeling, how are you _really_ feeling?”

“Right now. Stuffed. That ice cream slid right home.” Dean chuckles, then frowns, rubbing a hand over his face. He sighs again. He seems to be doing that a lot more frequently since meeting Cas again. “Alright, honestly?”

“You can lie till your teeth fall out, I'll listen anyway. But if you wanna be honest, sure.”

“I'm pissed.”

“That's understandable.” She pauses, as if she's hesitant. 

Dean knows that look, how she bites her mouth and looks down. He ruffles her hair. “I don't bite.”

“Is that all you're feeling? I mean... you kind of said yes to prom night with Cas?” She has that questioning lilt to her voice as if Dean's actions confuse her.

Dean is not sure that he isn't confused himself. Hell, he knows he's confused as fuck.

“He said he never stopped thinking about me. Which is... I mean, that can mean anything, right. Maybe he's been thinking about a hundred ways to kill me. Or a hundred ways to twist the knife a little deeper.” Dean looks around for a new beer but doesn't find any. Just his luck. “Not that I haven't played with knives.”

Charlie sighs, nestles in close and puts her head on Dean's chest. 

Maybe she can hear Dean's heartbeat, how it thumps wildly in there. Whether from hope or fear, he hasn't figured out yet. Maybe it's both.

She speaks low into his shirt. “Maybe it means that he still... cares about you? Maybe it means that despite everything, he still has a place for you in his heart?”

“That's a lot of maybe's, Charlie.”

“Isn't life a string of maybe's and chances and twists of fate?”

Dean grimaces. Maybe that is the truth. He still thinks fate can shove it where the sun don't shine.

“Thanks, Charlie. You're a good friend.”

Charlie yanks at his shirt. “You're not so bad yourself.”

When Charlie leaves, the city is dark. The city never sleeps but it settles down into a quiet lull, at least in Dean's neck of the woods. His apartment is away from the harsh flashing lights of night clubs and the drumming sounds of music that blares out from speakers on steroids.

Dean exhales loudly before finally going to the closet. The dim light bulb leaves enough light to wash the room in muted colors but not enough to leave him blinded. When he stands on his toes, he can just barely reach the box in the corner on the shelf.

He slides down on the floor and holds the box in his lap. 

Indecision worms its way around him and Dean contemplates pushing the box away but doesn't. A thin film of dust coats his fingertips. Dean uses the arm of his shirt and cleans it off. Carefully, he lifts the lid off. 

The ring rests there, in its paper Mount Doom. Dean picks it up, feels the weight of it. He's tempted to try the ring on again but feels for some irrational reason that it would mean bad luck. He doesn't dwell on it as he places the ring next to him.

His entire being is wound up tight and for a brief moment, panic seizes his heart. A heavy thing pushes on his chest, slowly weighing down until each breath is labored and his lungs scream in protest at the sudden lack of air. 

Dean gingerly picks up the item at the bottom of the box.

He holds the small gray sweater in his hands and slowly lifts it up to his nose. He inhales. The scent of him still lingers after all these years and memories assault his mind. “Jack.” It escapes Dean in a soft whisper and soon tears blur his vision.

After, Dean's hands tremble as he sends a text.

Dean thinks about leaving. The restaurant is intimate, boasts some of the city's best pies – eyeing the menu Dean spots bacon pie of all things – and apparently, they also have award-winning burgers. Dean wants to be the judge of that, but he's not sure he can stomach food right now. 

Dean Winchester usually doesn't say no to food, but his stomach is in knots. It took him over half an hour to choose an outfit and in the end, he settled for his favorite jeans and a dark green flannel shirt. Some choice but Charlie had approved when he'd sent her a text. Green brings out the green in his eyes apparently. Dean isn't sure quite how that works but he just hummed and agreed.

The small bell over the door chimes as Cas walks in. 

It should be illegal to look so gorgeous. Black jeans hug him in just the right places and the casual blue jacket he's wearing accentuates his shoulders and arms. He looks bigger than Dean remembers him, but then again Cas has always been larger than life.

For a brief moment, Dean wonders if he should wave or something, but then Cas' serious face breaks out in a small smile. 

He walks over to Dean, confidence in every step. 

Dean gets up and seriously contemplates bolting. He pictures himself sliding between Cas and the table, jumping over the table divider and diving through the front door, never to be seen again. 

Calm down, Jason Bourne. He almost chuckles but then Cas breaks out into a smile, a genuine one that reaches his eyes before he composes himself. He extends his hand.

For a second, Dean wants to laugh. He's fucked Cas senseless, seen him fail at cooking steak – you do not use powdered garlic for steaks – and watched mesmerized as he transforms a bulky piece of wood into a chopping board and a wooden apple of all things. And now they are to shake hands?

His hand itches and he wants to rub off the sweat on his pants but that would've been too obvious. Not as obvious as when Cas takes Dean's hand and notices it's wetter than the sea. Dean gives him a short smile and extends his hand.

Cas doesn't recoil in disgust, so Dean considers that a win.

After ordering drinks, coffee and pie, they wait. 

It's Cas that breaks the silence. “I appreciate you sending me that message, Dean and for coming here.”

Dean chews on his lips. “I'll be honest, I was gonna delete it. Ignore it and you.” Who was he kidding, Cas was as easy to ignore as the rising sun and just as frustratingly unaware of how mesmerizing he was. 

Cas nods. “I understand that. What convinced you to do otherwise?”

A stubborn friend. A box. You. 

Dean chuckles lightly. “Ah, you know, Sundays have always been a little dull in the Winchester household. Nothing exciting like seeing your ex again and besides, the bingo hall was closed.”

There's a sparkle in Cas' eyes. “I wouldn't say our Sundays were dull.”

“There are only so many times you can play Scrabble before going fucking insane, Cas.”

Cas unbuttons his jacket, looks down for a moment. “You only say that because I beat you nine times out of ten.”

A puff of air escapes Dean. “Please, it was closer to six times out of ten.” He glances at Cas, sees how he quirks his lips when he smiles and it transforms him. It's funny, Dean muses, how easily they slide right back into how they were. It's almost so effortless that Dean forgets.

“Perhaps. But I was thinking more about our other activities.” Cas' voice is pleasant, even when he speaks in riddles.

Confusion renders Dean speechless for a moment before he remembers. A subtle heat causes his cheeks to redden and he looks down. He takes a sip from his apple juice then, swallows it down to cool off.

Cas shakes his head slightly. “I apologize. That was uncalled for. Some thoughts sound better in my mind than out of my mouth.”

Not wanting things to get more awkward than they already are, Dean shrugs. “It's fine, we all have those moments.” 

Their pies arrive, an apple pie for Dean and a cheesecake pie for Cas. Their coffee comes shortly thereafter. 

Cheesecake pie. Dean almost rolls his eyes. Only Cas would look at the entire menu of award-winning cheesecakes – why had he never been a judge at those awards? – and decide to select the half pie half cheesecake monstrosity that stands before him.

Cas unbuttons his jacket, before digging in and Dean stares.

Stopping with his fork halfway to his mouth, Cas narrows his eyes. “What? Have I spilled something already?”

Dean's eyes don't leave Cas' T-shirt. That fucker. “Nah, and you better not soil that T-shirt of mine.”

Cas glances down, a shadow passing over his face before looking up again. “You didn't want it so...”

Shrugging, Dean feigns nonchalance. Maybe it was not the most convincing of moves since he really wanted to grab that shirt, take it home, wash it and never part from it again. “Didn't know you became such a Zeppelin fan is all.” 

The waiter returns with their coffee. Cas mumbles a thank you before taking a sip. “A lot of things have changed. And it wasn't that I wasn't a fan. I just didn't appreciate them as thoroughly and... passionately as you did.”

“Mm...” Dean swallows down a piece of pie – it's pure perfection really with the slight tartness of the apples, the light hint of cinnamon on his tongue and the crunch of the warm crust. “It's not like I didn't want the shirt. You didn't ask.” There's a slight hint of disappointment in Dean's voice which surprises him.

Cas' voice is matter of fact as he takes a forkful of the pie. “Maybe I got tired of asking.”

Dean feels anger rise up and lets it boil for a few seconds. It's much easier to allow it to fester than to acknowledge the hurt that simmers underneath it all. He can see Cas' chest sink down and realizes that Cas has exhaled softly. His eyes flit down to Cas' hand, how he plays with the pie.

“Maybe...” There's a pause as Dean swallows and tries to let the knots in his gut dissolve. “You gonna eat that pie or just mash it into a pulp? Not that I blame you. Cheesecake pie. There is a special ring in hell for whoever came up with that creation.”

“Why not have the best of both worlds?” Cas' words are softer now and his smile is back again. 

Dean's stomach clenches. He forgets how disarming Cas is when he smiles.

“So, you still bossing people around?”

Dean grins and takes another sip of coffee. It's still comfortably hot and blends beautifully with the pie. Anything tastes good with pie, really. “Yeah, just a different field. These people _like_ to be bossed around though.” Dean chuckles. 

Cas raises an eyebrow at that before his eyes narrow into a smug expression. “I know someone like that too.”

Even though it's been years, Cas is still cheeky as fuck. Dean kind of likes that. Not necessarily that he agrees fully with that assessment – he likes to be bossed around only in specific circumstances – but that is hardly a conversation they should be having around people.

And Dean realizes that he would like that – to be around Cas with significantly fewer people in the room, maybe even just the two of them. 

“Yeah, nothing like not having to prod people to do their actual job. Now we have steps to help the project managers on their way and people are actually following protocol and the guidelines. And would you know? We're on time, the product is still relevant to the market and doesn't end up costing three times more than first projected?”

“Was it that bad at Alistar?” Cas puts down the fork, finished with his pie. “You wanted a new challenge?”

Dean looks away for a second. He hesitates, wonders what level of honesty he should offer Cas. “I mean, I was good at what I did.”

Cas nods. “That you were.”

“But I always felt the last couple of years that I was less a program manager and more a babysitter – “

“ – babysitter.” Cas laughs softly.

Dean scratches the back of his neck. “And then... you know, I couldn't really get back. Everybody knew and offered sympathies and shit.”

Cas sighs softly, swallows and allows his arms to rest on the table. It's something that he used to tease Dean about, he does have a thing with postures, but for now, such things are trivialities. “They meant well, Dean...” 

That _he_ meant well is left unsaid, but it hovers there in the air between them, unspoken and raw. 

It's like a scab and Dean feels a macabre urge to poke it, to use his nails and pull it off. Maybe then, that horrible itching sensation will finally dissipate. But then again, maybe it will just start bleeding again. 

Dean laughs humorlessly as he stares at his empty plate. _They_ didn't know me.” 

More people have entered the restaurant, and the collective murmur of hushed conversations, chairs scraping on the floor and metal against porcelain almost drowns out Cas' whisper. “I did know you.” 

He looks at Cas, his heart suddenly in his throat. “Did you mean it?” He's a coward for changing the subject but he's not ready. Not yet and he pushes down that cruel voice that asks him if he'll ever be ready. The funny thing is that he thought he wasn't ready to talk to Cas either and yet here he is.

“You need to be more precise, Dean.”

Always with the pulling, Dean thinks. But then again, if there was no pull, would Dean have given his heart to Cas all those years ago? Cas used to say they had a profound bond. Not that Dean disagreed but for being that profound, the bond surely demanded a lot of work.

Cas had just laughed and said that that was relationships. _Relationships_ demanded a lot of work.

Dean sighs. “Did you mean... that part about you? Still thinking about me?”

He sees Cas lick his lips, his eyes turning soft. “Every day, Dean. I never wanted what... became of us. We both loved him, and it felt, _feels_ unspeakably sad that... that bond died together with Jack.”

Dean can sense his heartbeat speeding up and he wants to lash out in anger, say things that he knows will hurt Cas and soothe his own pain. Then the small, _very_ small rational part of him whispers that he already did that. And what did that get him? Divorced, alone and still his fucking heart aches. 

Sometimes he wishes he could carve his heart out with a dull knife and stomp on it. To his horror, Dean feels tears pool in his eyes. He wipes them away quickly. _Healing can never begin without open, true honesty, Dean_ , he hears in his shrink's voice all of a sudden. He's not sure that she even counted as his shrink since he only saw her twice. 

His shrink would've been proud though. Here goes for throwing himself off a cliff, like a goddamn idiot. “What kind of thoughts are they? The murderous I-wanna-stab-my-ex-husband-in-the-chest ones or more like this-guy-was-cool-for-being-a-douche?” He keeps his voice light, but Cas isn't fooled. He's always been the more perceptive one.

“Do I have to choose?”

Dean refuses to make light of the situation and makes a face instead. “Look, I know what I did – “ 

“Dean.” Cas' hand is on his wrist and Dean freezes. His heart leaps down to his wrist where it pounds wildly. 

Cas pulls his hand away and Dean feels the loss of his touch acutely. For a brief second, he is home, seeing the coastline and beaches, only for his ship to get smashed against the cliffs again.

Clearing his throat, Cas fiddles with the handle of his coffee mug. “I was holding out on this conversation, thinking if that opportunity ever arose, that it would take time. That we would need time.”

Dean clicks his tongue. “Three years is time.”

Cas smiles wryly. “I guess you're right. Didn't figure you wanted this on our first date?”

“Well. We have history,” Dean scoffs.

“We do.” Cas pauses, as if hesitant to speak his mind. “Most of it good, I would think.” He still toys with the handle, like he needs to hold on to something.

Dean clears his throat and wishes that the same action would clear his mind and make things easy. But life is never easy. Christ, he sounds like one of those lame fridge magnets with a totally bland life quote plastered on it, like _Life is good_ or _Today is the day_. The day for fucking what? 

He takes a sip of the now cold coffee and grimaces.“I think I need it for my own sanity, you know? If feels... like such a long time ago, and yet I can remember some stuff vividly.” He remembers all of it vividly.

Looking around, Cas nods before turning towards Dean again. “If you don't mind, maybe we can go somewhere else more private?”

They walk with a goal in mind, or rather Cas has a goal and Dean follows. After a few minutes, Dean sees were Cas is taking them. At the outskirts of the area dotted with restaurants and small shops with various trinkets, lies a park with oak trees for shade and small trails that take people on different routes throughout.

The weather is comfortable and although people are milling about, they have enough space around them that Dean feels like it's just him and Cas. They walk close together, almost brushing their arms. Dean clenches his jaws to stop himself from reaching out. His wrist remembers the ghost of Cas' earlier touch and wants more. Dean refuses to acknowledge that it's not only his wrist that desire more contact, more skin, just _more_ of Cas. 

Cas is like a siren with legs, calling out with his song that only Dean seems to hear and be pulled in by. The sun is gentle and as it bathes them in warm light, Cas squints. He is beautiful, kind and patient – well, patient to a point. Not that Dean blames him.

“Cas...”

Cas slows down, but they don't stop altogether. Their walk turns mindful, almost cautious.“Yes, Dean.”

“Uh... you're awfully relaxed around me.”

Cas shrugs. “Shouldn't I be?”

Dean kicks at a pebble on the road, gazes at some girls walking way ahead of them in the distance. “I don't know. We didn't part on good terms. And some of those things I said...” He looks down at the ground.

Cas' voice is careful. “I remember the things you said.”

Dean winces. 

Cas continues. “But I wasn't the best of husbands at the time either. Losing Jack brought out the ugly in both of us. And I do understand that people deal with grief and loss in different ways. I realize now that I felt... isolated and alone. I needed you there with me. I might not have been the most – ”

“Don't, Cas. Don't... try to defend me.”

Cas laughs, and it's a sound that awakens feelings Dean thought were long lost and futile to try and rekindle. 

“I'm not. People deal with grief in different ways, but you were a jerk, Dean.”

Dean flinches at the brutality of Cas' honesty but he doesn't correct him. “I couldn't, Cas... “ Dean takes a deep breath and then finally articulates the words that cut the deepest. “Jack was our light in the world. I loved him so damn much. And then he was gone. From one day to the next and everything, fucking _everything_ reminded me of him. His room, the wall in the kitchen were he drew those circles, the fucking laundry detergent.” He exhales heavily but there's a stone lodged in his throat. 

He feels Cas' eyes on him but he doesn't dare look at him. “I remember how he used to sneak into our room in the middle of the night, how he always kicked me in the face with his feet in bed as we nestled close all three of us, how we used to take _him_ to the park. His soft little hand in mine, how he ran to you when you got home from work, how you groomed him to be a little nerd with your wood carving tools.” Dean laughs softly. “You remember he had his own little hammer?”

“Yes. He used to walk around the house, hammering on the doors, books and our feet.”

Dean nods. “Mm. I can still feel his arms around me if I concentrate enough.”

Cas nods in agreement, swallows. “Me too. And I remember you, you're always intertwined in those memories. Good... and bad.” He looks at Dean before averting his eyes. Their arms brush as they bump into each other but neither of them moves away. 

There's a roaring sound between Dean's ears, an ocean of sorrow that crashes inside his skull, water that pours down his throat, but instead of lodging the words stuck there, it washes them out.

“I'm sorry, Cas. I should have never said those words, wished that you were dead.” The words are like ash in his mouth. He realizes now how cruel those words were, especially in the midst of a grief where they were both acutely aware of how devastating a death truly was. He shakes his head, sighs deeply. “Sorry I wasn't there when you needed me the most.”

“It's alright, Dean. I'm sorry that I failed to see that you grieved differently than I. And that your way was valid too.” Cas' voice is thick with emotion and when Dean feels the hesitant brushes of Cas' fingers against his hand, he takes it.

“I miss him, Cas.”

“Me too, Dean. Everyday.”

Cas' squeezes Dean's hand once but doesn't let go. 

Dean doesn't want him to.


	3. With you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is nervous. This is the first time he's been invited to Cas' home since the divorce three years ago. He has feelings for Cas (that much he can finally admit to himself) and he's pretty sure that Cas still harbors feelings for him.
> 
> Soon enough, Dean will rediscover that those feelings of love are hard to shake off, despite everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi lovelies!
> 
> So, the last chapter is here! I hope you've enjoyed the (tiny) ride and that this chapter will be satisfactory. General heads-up that this chapter still deals with grief and loss. Oh, and there is smut in this chapter too (thereof the E warning).
> 
> TW: There will be a visit to a cemetery.
> 
> Thank you to BabysNotaProp for being an amazing beta as usual. <3 Thanks for reading and commenting. I appreciate all of you!

“I don't want to gloat but you owe me fifty bucks, Dean and taco night.” 

Dean turns around, surprised at Charlie's proclamation. “Fifty bucks? For what? We can do taco night without the fifty. I'll make my very own salsa, Winchester-style.” The black and gray shirt looks damn good on him. He thinks. “So, is this alright? I bought it yesterday but I also have that blue one – “

Charlie walks up to Dean, and pats him on the chest as she looks up at him with a smile.”You look amazing, Dean. You'd look amazing in anything. One weekend with you as Renly Baratheon and me as Ygritte, and we'd rule the North. Well, as soon as we get rid of Brandon Stark a.k.a. Ash. He has quite the support.” 

“I don't quite remember that storyline, Charlie.”

“Just as no one wants to remember season eight. It's a good thing, Dean. Point is, you'd look equally good with a stag crown on your head or a potato sack.” She stabs a finger in his chest. “You should totally come with me to the next LARP. I can't pass you off as Renly, Adam has that position, but I'm sure you can be someone's bastard.”

Dean pulls a smile. “A bastard, mm. You trying to tell me something?”

“Nope. Except that you owe me fifty bucks.” Charlie steps back, nodding approvingly.

“It's not too casual? If you don't tell me what the bet is for, I can't accommodate.”

Charlie walks back to the hallway. Dean hears her rummage through her bag and soon the sound of feet of hardwood floor skipping through the apartment can be heard. “In case you forgot, which seeing you running around like a headless chicken all nervous, I'm sure you did, I went to the cake shop. Here, your custom made gift.” She hands Dean a box of chocolates, a huge smile on her face.

“Shit. I did totally forget about that.” He looks at the chocolates through the clear lid. Shaped like tiny brains and filled with caramel sauce, they were a reminder of Dean and Cas' first date together, all those years ago. 

Charlie punches Dean on the shoulder. “The bet was if you and Cas would get back together. I know what you guys went through was painful, but you loved each other, Dean.” She brushes away some lint from his chest. “And seeing how this is your fifth date since the divorce, I think I won. I take cash and credit.”

“We're not back together,” Dean says lamely. 

“That chocolate box begs to differ,” Charlie says empathically as she shoves Dean out the door. “Go, you'll be late.” Before she closes the door, her voice turns softer. “I'm happy for you, Dean. Now go, I'll house watch.”

“I don't need you to – “

Charlie just waves and shut the door.

Dean looks at the address he received from Cas earlier that day and compares it to the address he put in his GPS. He even checks the street sign. This is the address, he just needs to stop stalling and get out of the car.

He grips the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. Maybe he should have worn the other shirt. Already he feels heat envelop his body; it's an uncomfortable hug that leaves him feeling flustered. 

Just because this is their fifth date doesn't mean that they are together. This is just Dean hanging out with Cas. Platonically. He ignores the voice that whispers that they certainly didn't hold hands, watch that movie or spend three hours in a game cafe platonically.

He glances at the chocolate box and sudden doubt washes over him. Dean decides that he'll leave the box in the Impala. Exhaling softly, he exits the car. Sure, he is nervous but he isn't sure that some of that heat isn't also excitement.

Dean decides to stop kidding himself, he _is_ excited. The more time he spends with Cas, the more he remembers why he fell in love with him in the first place. Nine steps away from the car, Dean turns around with a curse and grabs the chocolate box. The damned brains were almost thirty bucks, so Cas better both eat _and_ enjoy them.

He presses the doorbell with more force than necessary.

There is a charge in the air, an electricity that swirls around him and makes the hair on his arms stand up, despite the relative warmth of the halfway. Dean's pulse quickens but that's probably just an aftereffect from all those stairs he had to climb. Stair climbing is basically horizontal running, and he hates running. 

Cas opens the door a few heartbeats later. 

Dean's mouth goes dry. How a person looks so good in dark jeans and a blue striped shirt is beyond him. Cas hair is disheveled – perpetually bedhead style – but that doesn't stop Dean from wanting to run his fingers through it to make it even messier.

“Come in, Dean. You found the address without a problem I see.”

“Yeah, with the wonders of modern technology. Wish the guys that built this place remembered a modern invention called an elevator though.” 

Cas pulls a smile. “Mm, that would've certainly been useful when I moved in here. Fortunately, I was not the one doing the walking up and down the stairs.”

Cas leans in towards Dean, probably to lock the door Dean realizes too late, as he takes a step forward to give Cas the box. Their chests are suddenly flush together. This close, Dean fully appreciates the blue of Cas' eyes, the fullness of his lips, the scent of his cologne that blends with the unique scent that is him. Dean's mind goes blank at the sudden contact. His words betray him but his cock fails to receive the memo of any circulatory betrayal as it hardens.

Dean jumps back and tries to salvage what he imagines is an awkward situation.“Here, a... housewarming gift.” Dean shoves the package at Cas.

Cas eyes lit up. “Little chocolate turtles. You shouldn't have, Dean. Thank you.”

Yeah, Dean doesn't correct Cas on that. Turtles it is. 

A rich, warm aroma comes from the kitchen with notes of spicy chili and peppers being the most dominating ones. 

“I hope you're hungry, the chili has been on the stove for hours. Basically, cooks itself.”

Dean grabs the bottle of beer that Cas offers him. “I do love myself a mean chili. No beans?”

Cas smirks. “I do remember, you're a meat man, so no beans.”

Not sure that Dean has heard that correctly, he turns to ask Cas again but he's by the oven, slowly opening the door. A waft of garlic assaults Dean's senses and he realizes how hungry he is. 

“You can set the table, I have a separate cupboard for that. In the dining room.” Cas motions with a tilt to his head as he puts away the steaming hot garlic bread. 

As Dean grabs two plates and utensils, ready to place them on the table, he notices the corner wall. He almost drops the plates before coming to his senses. Not really looking, he puts the plates down.

Something achingly familiar, an old acquaintance – it's sure as hell not a friend – grows in his chest, expands slowly until he feels he's being crushed. At the same time, a burst of love flows through him. He can faintly hear Cas stir with something in the kitchen but it's just an irritant, not worthy of his attention.

Dean walks up to the corner shelf and blinks. 

Two huge black and white photos of Jack with a huge smile on his face hangs on display. On the bottom shelf, Dean sees one of his favorite toy cars and the blanket that was his constant companion. Dean swallows hard as he carefully touches the blanket.

Turning around, Dean walks on soft feet around the apartment. Everywhere there are small reminders of Jack; on a table next to the soft leather couch a little clay hedgehog rests. A drawing Jack did hangs on the wall near the TV, his hand and footprints are on a shelf in the living room. Outside the bedroom, Dean spots a small frame with a painting they had done for Jack's second Christmas. The blue outline of Cas' hand, his own green and slightly smaller hand atop of Cas' and lastly Jack's own small handprint in blazing orange. 

Dean smiles at the memory. Jack had laughed so much when Cas had painted his hand and then he'd tried to wipe it off on Cas' face. 

Cas clears his throat behind him. “There you are.” He takes a quick look at Dean. “Are you OK?” His hand hovers around the small of Dean's back. It's a subtle shift in the air but the energy is tangible and Dean stops himself from pressing back, stops himself from feeling the hard outline of Cas' hand on him.

Dean nods. “Mm, yeah. I – uh- sorry for being a creep and snooping around your apartment. I just saw the two photos of Jack in the dining room and... I guess I got curious.” He turns and Cas is right there in front of him, closer than ever.

Perfect lips that demand kissing, because that mouth would never beg and Dean wants to acquiescence and get lost in the taste of Cas. Blue eyes that threaten to pull him in and Dean wants to get lost in the almost dizzying lust that flushes through him. He stops his urge to touch Cas' cheek, let his fingers ghost over the soft skin.

“Dinner is ready.” Cas' voice is husky, deeper than usual and he eyes Dean with a hunger that has nothing to do with food. His body is a fucking furnace and Dean wants to lean in and be incinerated.

“Perfect. I'm very... hungry.” Christ, he sounds like fucking Anastasia Steele but Cas just smirks and takes a minute step back.

The chili tastes like heaven and dinner flies by in a whirl. In between talks about the best boardgame – where Dean disagrees about fucking Scrabble carrying the title, idiot coworkers, and the latest Marvel movies, Dean finds himself relaxing more and more until his misgivings earlier in the evening are forgotten.

“Haven't made chili in years, but if I can say so myself, I aced it.” Cas leans back into the chair and the fabric stretches over his biceps as he folds his arms in satisfaction. 

Dean's gaze tries not to linger on how the shirt accentuates every muscle as Cas moves. The shirt really brings out the blue of Cas' eyes. Dean hums to himself. Maybe Charlie was right, blue does bring out blue. “It was alright, but there was something missing. Beans.”

“Fuck you,” Cas laughs, “you hate beans.”

“You're right, I do hate them. But you know what I don't hate?” Dean smiles. 

“Indulge me.”

“Dessert. Or do you have any ideas for – “

“No. No ideas at all.” Cas narrows his eyes as he gets up, a mischievous grin on his face. 

Dean starts to clear the table but Cas makes a dismissive motion. “Leave it, I'll deal with this tomorrow. We can have your dessert in the living room.”

They sit close to each other, legs touching. A jolt of pleasure goes through Dean, he wants more and he's pretty sure Cas wants it too. If Cas' hunger earlier was for only chili, Dean would fucking eat tofu for a whole week.

Cas takes one of the chocolate pieces in hand and raises it like it's a goddamn glass of wine. “Cheers.”

“You're such a dork, Cas.”

“A hot dork.” Cas winks with his eye or tries to but it looks more like his eye is having a seizure. He takes a bite and moans. “Mm, who knew little turtles could be so delicious?”

Dean laughs, shaking his head. “They're not turtles but brains.”

Cas swallows and licks his lips slowly, in a move that Dean can only describe as pornographic. Christ, he knows this is only their fifth date and everything is complicated – is it though? – but his hardening dick doesn't care. All it cares about is getting a feel of those lush lips. 

“Brains?” A slow smile spreads over Cas' face. “You remember that.”

Shaking his head, Dean picks up a piece of chocolate. “How can I not?” he says between bites. “Who the fuck orders the three least ordered items on the menu?”

Cas' voice is laced with humor. “A very charming, intriguing man. Great cook, hot smile, hotter body. He's got brains too.”

“Wow, the whole package, huh. Must have been a real catch.”

Cas' smile dies down as he turns serious. “I think _he_ found the real catch.” 

His hand lays heavy on Dean's thigh and although Dean is not sure how it got there, he's not complaining. Quite the opposite in fact, as Dean moves his hips infinitesimally in answer. 

“Yeah, I don't know about that. Let's say we're both great.” Dean notices that Cas' hand turns heavier on his leg. He exhales sharply and Cas' eyes are on him, like an eagle finally catching sight of its prey. 

His hand leaves Dean's leg and Dean's about to protest when Cas gently places his hand on Dean's cheek. “Is this alright – “

“Very, Cas, it's very alright.” Dean's voice is rough, his desire leaving no room for doubt about what he really wants. 

Cas moves his hand, his thumb slowly caressing Dean's lips and he opens up willingly. Cas surges forward and their mouths met in a fervor of hot kisses. 

Dean closes his eyes, enjoys the taste of Cas mingled with the chocolate he ate before. His hands wind their way into Cas' hair, pulling gently and Cas breaks off their kiss, moaning hot in Dean's ear.

Dean's blood practically boils as he hears that exhaled breath of desire. “Fuck, Cas. I need more.” The distance is killing Dean, he craves to be close to Cas again, to relearn every inch of him and to explore him anew. 

“Then come get more,” Cas whispers as his hands caress Dean's sides. He moves up, grabbing the short hair at the back of Dean's neck and pulls.

Dean's entire body is aflame and that light tug sends electrifying jots of pleasure through him. “You don't have to ask twice,” he murmurs and feels Cas' smile against his cheek. He straddles Cas and moans when he feels the hard evidence of his desire. He wants this as much as Dean wants it. The notion makes Dean grin. Grinding down, he evokes a strained moan from Cas. He nuzzles in close into Cas' neck, and Cas angles his head to give him more. 

And Dean wants more. He wants all that Cas gives and everything that he's withholding.

“Fuck, Dean. You feel so good.” Cas raises his hips, arching up slowly to meet Dean as his hands hold him steady.

“You know what would feel even better?”

“Mm, no?” Cas mumbles as Dean grinds down on him again.

“Us doing this with no clothes on, imagine that, Cas. Naked.” 

Cas chuckles and leans in, kisses Dean's neck until he finally reaches his lips. “You're so – “

“Right. Right is the word you're looking for,” Dean mumbles as he caresses Cas' back.

Cas leans in to kiss him again but Dean pulls away. “Nah, I think we need to take a break from all the kissing.” He plays with the top button of Cas' shirt. “You know, this blue shirt really brings out the blue in your eyes,” he whispers.

“Does it now? Thank you.” A mischievous smile plays on Cas' lips. “It's a really nice shirt.”

Dean narrows his eyes at the humor in Cas' voice. “It's my shirt, isn't it?”

Again, Cas leans in to kiss Dean. “Very much so.”

Dean's lips pull into an amused smile as he strokes Cas' chest, feeling the soft material. “Good. Since it's technically my shirt, I don't think you'll mind that I do this.” He grabs the shirt and pulls, making buttons fly over the floor.

“Fuck, Dean I liked that shirt. “

“Too bad.” He runs his hands over Cas' exposed chest, but his eyes keep being pulled to the glimpses of inked skin he spots near Cas' underarms. Slowly, Dean runs his fingers up Cas's upper arms, following the trail over his shoulders and back. He needs the shirt off.

“How about we go somewhere else that's more... comfortable?” Cas suggests. 

“I kind of like this position, but if you have a better idea in mind, I'm game.”

Cas leads them to the bedroom, his hand in Dean's. He dims the lights as they enter. 

Dean quickly divests himself of his own shirt, tosses it on the floor together with his pants and socks. 

Cas has started with the pants and socks, like the weirdo he is, and the shirt is still draped over his shoulders. 

Dean tosses his underwear to the side and crowds Cas as he shimmies out of his boxers. The sight of Cas' hard cock makes Dean's own twitch in anticipation. He's stunning in the dim light; his lips are swollen from all the kissing, his blue eyes are blown wide with lust and his hair... well, his hair is exactly the same as it's always been.

“You look beautiful, Cas.” It's just a whisper but Cas smiles. 

“Tell me something I don't know,” Cas teases.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Dean kisses him again, bites his lip as he drags Cas' shirt off. It pools at their feet and Dean shoves Cas in the chest until he falls down on the bed.

His body covers Cas' in an instant, his hands touching and caressing every inch of skin almost of their own accord, as if trying to remember a sensation lost to time. A finger pinches a nipple, a hand strokes his chest. 

Cas' gasps of pleasure sing through him but Cas hasn't forgotten about Dean. He strokes his bicep, hard fingers raking over his back before he squeezes Dean's ass. 

Dean chuckles. “Fuck, I've missed you.”

“Mm, same.” Cas wedges his hand between them, wraps Dean's cock in a tight grip and teases expertly. Dean pushes himself up on his arms, needing to get away from the heat that rises from within, but still, he craves more as his hips slowly push into Cas' hand. 

Cas strokes Dean some more, until he is lost in thought. His consciousness can only be aware of so much and right now it chooses to reside in his dick and higher thoughts and speech are left to the wind. He grips the sheets tighter, already starting to buck into Cas' hands. Christ, if this keeps up, he is gonna come like some lovesick teenager. 

“You were right, you know,” Dean mumbles, trying to distract himself.

Cas slows down his ministrations, lets go and arches up to kiss the side of Dean's throat. “About what?” 

“This bed really is more comfortable than the couch. Is it memory foam?”

Cas pulls Dean down over himself and yanks his hair back, sending chills of pleasure through him. He whispers in a low and raspy voice. “High-quality mattress. Higher concentration of steel... coils.”

A shiver travels through Dean as Cas strokes his head, squeezing tightly at the last word. Moans escape Dean's lips, echoing in the room. That fucker, only Cas could make talk about mattresses sound sexy. 

Cas moves around the bed, slides down until his mouth is near Dean's cock. Welcoming heat surrounds Dean as Cas' mouth envelops Dean's head. 

An urge to plunge deep inside, make Cas' choke on his cock overwhelms Dean but he's so close to coming and he wants Cas to enjoy himself too. They haven't been together in years, and Dean wants this to feel meaningful for Cas too, even if that makes him a sap. 

He rolls over Cas – he really needs to upgrade the size of his own bed, he muses – and pulls Cas close to him. Cas' skin is warm, desire blooming on his body and Dean contemplates just stopping and relaxing instead, with Cas in his arms. His cock twitches, as if trying to convince him of the supreme folly of his plan to just stop. 

“Is something wrong, Dean?” Cas' voice is light but Dean detects the slight note of worry.

“Nah,” Dean huffs. “I'm just ready to burst and – “ he turns to Cas, his breath blowing on Cas' skin in between leaving hard, bruising kisses on his chest, “– I want to make you feel good too.”

“I'm _very_ good.” Cas' trails his fingers over Dean's arm lightly, reassuring him.

“You don't think we're going too fast?” Dean breathes on Cas' nipple and grins as it turns hard. He pinches it.

Cas moans in sudden pleasure. Exhaling sharply, as Dean lets it go, he answers. “This is our fifth date, Dean, I don't think we need to worry about rushing things. But if you want to take a break, we can... do this some other time.”

Dean hears the hesitation in Cas' voice, the fear that there won't be a next time. And Dean knows with sudden clarity that he wants next times. He wants a next time for breakfast in bed and walks in the park. He wants a next time for watching movies and a next time for hot sex on the couch, against a wall, wherever. He just wants a next time. With Cas.

“We are doing this now.” Dean undulates his hips, pushing them against Cas' back. His aching cock rests against Cas' ass. “I need to be inside you right now.”

“Good thing I was in the scouts.” He turns towards Dean, raises an eyebrow.

Letting out a laugh, Dean kisses Cas in the crock where the shoulder meets neck. “I don't have words.”

Moaning, Cas exhales. “Lucky me, you're not gonna' fuck me with words.”

Dean chuckles and pushes at Cas' shoulders. 

Slowly, Cas turns around, gets up on his hands and knees as he arches his back slowly. “Lube's in the drawer if you need it. I'm good.”

“I'm good too,” Dean whispers. 

For the first time, Dean sees Cas' back tattoo and it momentarily stops him in his tracks. From the roundness of his shoulders, the sharp angles of his shoulder blades down the hard planes of his back and sweeping over the round globes of his ass, Cas is covered in black feathers, meticulously done. 

A pair of huge angel wings are covering the entirety of Cas' back, wrapping him in and holding him safely. The only feeling that comes over Dean is a sense of awe. 

Dean swallows hard and Cas' name is just an exhale, gone as soon as its manifested. “Cas.”

“Mm?”

“It's amazing, you're amazing.”

Cas looks back at Dean. “That is one of my qualities. Now, fuck me, I think I've been patient enough.”

Dean chuckles and lets his fingers stray over the muscle of Cas' back, down his spine. He touches a feather, following how it trails down over Cas' ass and ends in a soft tip. Grabbing his cock in one hand, he spreads Cas' ass cheeks with the other and slowly pushes against Cas' hole.

He gets a pleasured moan in response, Cas pushing himself back against him. “I swear, Dean, you're trying to kill me.”

“F-f-fuck,” Dean exhales slowly as he pushes inside, bottoming out. The tight heat almost ends him, let alone the fact that it's Cas he's inside off. “Fuck, Cas, you feel so good.”

He caresses a hand over Cas' back, smiles when Cas arches into the touch. “Mm, right there, Dean.”

Dean grabs Cas' hips and starts fucking him in earnest. Starting slow, heat already builds inside of him and Dean knows he isn't going to last long. It's been too long since he'd done this and the fact that it's Cas takes his pleasure to a whole other level. 

He likes to think that this is lovemaking, but his hips piston in and out of Cas, his fingers leaving bruising marks on Cas' hips and as Dean feels Cas tighten around him to the point that he almost sees stars, he knows that this is a fucking, hell; maybe it's more than lovemaking and fucking. Something else entirely that transcends words and descriptions and all Dean wants is for this feeling of togetherness, of this vast amount of want coursing through him to be never-ending. 

Cas' moans mix with the slap of skin against skin and the occasional rustle of sheets. His inked feathers are a living thing, as Cas' muscles roll under the skin and a thin sheen of sweat coats Cas' back. It almost gives the illusion of real feathers, wings flexing and arching, ready to take flight.

Dean reaches around and grabs Cas' neglected cock, it's hard and unyielding in his hand. Cas groans out into the room, his fingers flexing as his hips work against nothing, the only friction the one Dean's hand provides. “Oh my god, yes. Don't stop, Dean. Fucking hell...” 

Words are lost in a haze of grunts, moans and encouraging sounds. 

Dean lets go of Cas' cock, grabs his hips again. His balls and groin tighten, Dean feels he's on the precipice. He hears Cas grunt and then still for a second as he spills on the bed, his release staining the covers.

Dean's heart thunders in his chest and Cas clenching around him hard as he comes is the thing that pushes him over. The whole world stills for a second before a wave of pleasure crashes over him. Dean comes inside Cas with a hard grunt. 

Cas collapses on the bed and Dean follows suit, still connected to Cas. Wrapping an arm around him, Dean nuzzles close to his warm body for a while before slowly pulling out.

Satisfaction suits Cas well. As he turns around, his cheeks are slightly rosy and his eyes shine with amusement. “Mm,“ Cas mumbles as he nestles in close to Dean.

“Mm, indeed.” Dean wraps an arm lazily around Cas' waist, pulls him in closer. There is a content silence in the air, and neither of them feel any need to speak, not just yet. Maybe it's that Dean fears that any spoken words right now will burst the magical bubble that surrounds them. Maybe he thinks that Cas doesn't have anything to say because their actions spoke when their mouths couldn't.

The world is a complicated mess of shades of gray, but at that moment, with Cas in his arms, Dean feels content in the knowledge of one thing that stands out with sharp clarity. He still loves Cas.

Laughter vibrates through his chest and Cas stirs. “Post-orgasm hysteria? How 1800th of you.”

“Shut up.” Dean mitigates his harsh words with a kiss on Cas' cheek. “I'm just having a moment. Then we can shower and sleep. I'm beat.”

Cas stretches over Dean, looks at the wall clock. “It's nine fifteen.”

“You trying to insinuate something?”

“No, not at all. If you want to be worse than my retired aunt and go to bed before 10, fine. I mean Amara is almost ninety-five. So what's your excuse?”

Dean chuckles as he slaps Cas' arm. “Shut up. She's ninety-four. My excuse is that I just had the most mind-blowing sex in what feels like forever.” He leans in and kisses Cas' bicep. “The guy was hot as hell.” The next words tumble out of his mouth without conscious thought.“Me having feelings for the guy, that helped.”

Cas turns serious in an instant as his eyes lock onto Dean's face. Dean notices the shadow of hesitancy and wishes he could magically erase it, but theirs is a complicated relationship where sharp thorns are mingled in with the softest of blossoms. “Just to be clear...” He licks his lips. “Are you saying that you... like me?”

Dean clears his throat. “Well, kind of, yeah.” He sighs.” I do like you, Cas. I never stopped. Things just became... unbearable.”

Cas nods. “I can understand that.” He reaches out to touch Dean and is gifted with a smile. “Are you and me, _we_ , are we going to be good?”

Dean bites his lip. “I can't make any promises, but I promise to try.”

“Try is all we can do.” Cas turns, wiggles out of Dean's grip. “Now, I don't know about you but I need a shower.”

“Sounds good. And just to prove that I'm not some crusty old lady, we can Netflix and chill, without the chill. After showering.”

Dean wakes up with a start. Cas' heavy arm is draped around him, and he snores lightly. Dean doesn't move. Instead, he stays still, enjoys the heat of Cas, the warmth of the covers and the soft morning light that tries to penetrate the blinds.

His intention is to sneak into the kitchen and make some morning coffee but Cas stirs anyway, blinks the sleep out of his eyes. “Morning.”

“Mornin' Cas.” Dean inches closer to him, wants to steal the last moments of warmth before they are up and moving. Last night feels like a dream but the evidence of his pleasure is right in his arms.

Cas mumbles something as he wipes the sleep from his eyes. “It's too early, that's what it is.” 

“It's Sunday.” Dean wiggles his eyebrows.

“Mm, we can do Scrabble later. I need food.”

“Not exactly what I had in mind but sure.” The mention of food ignites a gnawing sensation in his stomach and Dean realizes that he's starving.

Cas gets up hastily. “Sunday, you said?” 

“Um, yeah?”

Cas walks over to where his phone is charging, flicks through it. “I need to be somewhere. It's... I have a fixed appointment the first Sunday of each month.” He smiles faintly. “I was so wrapped up in our date, that I forgot about it.”

Dean can feel Cas' eyes on him, the deep blue weighing him, before he decides. “You can come with me after breakfast... if you want.”

The warmth is already heating up Dean's car but he stays put, hands on the steering wheel as he looks at the silhouette of Cas' back as it grows smaller in the distance. He'd agreed to come but his body thinks it's a stupid idea. 

His jaws are locked, his knuckles white against the steering wheel and he's pretty sure there is something alive, ticking away in his right temple. 

But there is a small part of him that _wants_ to go. With a frustrated growl, Dean steps out of the car and follows Cas. 

He doesn't really need to follow Cas. He knows this place. Wild trees grow here and there, some bushes dot the otherwise grass-covered hills and the pathway beneath his feet crunch as he presses the gravel down into the earth. The only thing that tells him that he's at Stull Cemetery is the graves that poke up here and there. 

Some rise high, the stone slabs smooth and uncorrupted by the touches of nature, others are ragged, with the stone rough and the carvings of old remembrances illegible. Dean walks past these graves that he doesn't know, nor cares for. He has enough to remember for a lifetime. 

He sees Cas in the grove, where large bushes and even larger trees create a natural shield against the wind of chilly autumn days and provide shade on warm days such as this one. Here the pathway lacks for gravel, instead soft grass – even moss on some places – creates a natural road.

Cas is already kneeling down, near one of the bushes farthest in.

Dean walks up to him, like a ghost from the past that lingers and stays, no matter how much its departure would mean a relief. He doesn't say anything, just looks as he tries to contain his heart and his racing pulse.

Cas is meticulous and slow as he brushes away leaves and stray twigs that have fallen and covers Jack's plaque. The black lettering still looks new, the round stone is still smooth even three years after and somehow it's almost an affront. Something that is so associated with finality and sorrow for those left behind shouldn't look so beautiful, almost serene.

Cas puts a flower near the stone and steps back.

“I didn't think you'd come,” he says softly. 

“I almost didn't,” Dean says and he hates how the words sound like a betrayal which is strange since he hasn't visited Jack's grave since the burial. He finds Cas' hand and grabs a hold of it as a wave of sorrow washes over him. Strangely enough, it isn't tainted with anger, just emptiness, and longing. 

A longing to see Jack grow older and explore more of the world around him, a longing to see Jack smile again or laugh with abandon as only children could. A longing to have him near as they watch movies, or draw something silly together. A longing to hold his child in his arms again. 

Unshed tears burn Dean's eyes and he squeezes Cas' hand tightly. “Thank you for taking care of him.”

Cas clears his throat. “He was just waiting for you to be ready. And you're welcome.”

They stand there together as the sun shines on them, speaking silent words of love to a son they never forgot.

Cas is the first one to move. His fingers twitch against Dean's hand and slowly they let go, as if both are awakening from a dream.

Turning towards Cas, Dean rests a hand on his arms. “Thank you. I... needed this.”

Cas nods in understanding. “It was all on you, Dean. I just gave you some encouragement.” 

They turn after saying goodbye to Jack and walk unhurriedly through the cemetery. The sun is more relentless out in the open and as they near their cars, Cas stops. 

“The day is still young, Dean. I was wondering if you'd want to spend it with me?”

Dean can't help but feel that pull on him again, a magnetism that Cas seems to radiate wherever he goes. Or maybe it's just _Dean_ that feels inexplicably compelled to gravitate towards Cas. A fleeting thought passes through him. 

Maybe that pull is the love Dean had for Cas all along. Dean nods. “Sure. I'd love that, Cas.”

Cas smiles. “Good. How about a game of Scrabble?”


End file.
